


all around the green gravel

by quarterdeck



Series: puffinverse [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Bliss, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Pet Names, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Wedding Planning, now in competition form!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25544788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quarterdeck/pseuds/quarterdeck
Summary: Wedding planning, thus far, has been like something out of an episode of Spy vs Spy, except that instead of a political satire on Cold War espionage, it’s been the two of them trying to outwit each other in an effort to make the wedding as perfect as possible for the other person specifically.It has their friends ready to kill them.-first snapshots, and then a marriage.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: puffinverse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832359
Comments: 34
Kudos: 203





	all around the green gravel

**Author's Note:**

> i said this is MY sappy feel-good puffin series

The time has come to plan their wedding. Richie and Eddie are in a standoff. Richie and Eddie are in, at last count… at least three stand-offs.

This is not typically the desired atmosphere when planning a wedding - but the two of them have never exactly been typical, thriving - enjoying! - as they do in their little bubble of chaos and banter where anyone else would be driven mad by it. 

And hell, Richie had thought optimistically, Eddie’s always loved Westerns, anyway. Standoffs aren’t really the worst thing that could happen here.

Wedding planning, thus far, has been like something out of an episode of Spy vs Spy, except that instead of a political satire on Cold War espionage, it’s been the two of them trying to outwit each other in an effort to make the wedding as perfect as possible for the other person specifically. Tender and combative, this has meant, in practice, that at all of their appointments, Richie has been championing all of Eddie’s preferences, while the latter tries to shout over him in order to champion his. 

It has their friends ready to kill them. In honour of the first Loser wedding - none of them having been present for Stan and Patty’s nuptials, Bev and Ben taking it slow, and honestly who the hell knows about Mike and Bill - everyone had been _very_ insistent on being closely involved. This had come as a relief to both Richie and Eddie, the former of whom was self-admittedly incapable of heading the organizational aspect of wedding planning, and the latter of whom would have developed a stress ulcer had he been allowed to try. So it was decided that all of the major checklist items would be delegated across their group with Richie and Eddie tagging along to give their input: Mike on cake, Ben on flowers, Bev on tuxes, Stan and Patty on decoration, and Bill on rings. Or - _ring,_ singular, given that Richie’s attachment to the one Eddie had made for him meant that now only Eddie needed one. And though he doesn’t know it yet, Richie has already got some ideas about that. They’d also surprised Bill by asking him to officiate for them, and it was satisfaction enough to see that the request had made him burst into tears. 

1

Today's battle is a perfect snapshot of this struggle. The pair of them are at a local bakery sampling different wedding cake flavours with Mike. The plan had been to get in, choose which flavour they wanted, demurely reassure the bakers that they would _just have to go home and think about it, thank you so much,_ and then have Mike recreate it with the same flavours the day before. Easy peasy, if a bit uncharitable of them. 

“Plan” has been the operative word here. Because the reality is that they’ve been here for forty minutes already, and all that they’ve figured out is that neither Richie nor Eddie are willing to compromise on each other. Mike is going to poison the frosting at this rate.

“Yeah, I really think we should go with the blackberry cake and cream cheese frosting,” Eddie says decisively, for what has to be the sixth time, “Write that down, Mike.”

“No,” Richie shakes his head with a frown at this, “No, definitely the chocolate hazelnut. No doubt. You don’t like fruity flavours." He pauses while a thought comes to him, and Eddie sighs silently in anticipation. "There's only _one_ fruit for you, my darling.” He points to himself with an exaggerated wink and a waggle of his eyebrows. Mike suppresses a sigh.

“ _You_ don’t like decadent flavours,” Eddie points out, ignoring the bait. “Or even chocolate much. So we’re definitely not doing that.”

“Have either of you ever heard of a _layer_ cake?” Mike mutters, but neither men hear him. It doesn’t matter anyway - the idea of combining flavours and ending up with a cake that only rates fifty percent success to both of them had been shot down ten minutes in.

“I don’t _need_ to eat any of the cake anyway, Rich,” Eddie says. “Seriously, it's fine. Don’t even worry about it.”

“What the - it’s your _wedding_ ,” Richie says, appalled at the very thought, romantic that he was. “Of course you need to eat the cake!”

Their voices are getting louder. The baker looks as if he’s about ready to launch a mixer at them. Mike decides that now would be a good time to time to put an end to it all.

“Okay, okay!” Mike raises his voice, speaking over them. “Alright, time to go I think.”

“But w-” Eddie starts, but snaps his mouth shut under Mike’s raised eyebrow.

“But nothing,” Mike says, “You’re just going to have to trust me. Thank you very much.”

This last part he directs at the baker, who looks as if he could cry in relief that they’re all finally leaving. It’s just as well that Mike will be making their cake - he’s not too sure this place would have agreed to serve them after this. 

Mike herds the three of them out the door, and onto the sidewalk. Richie and Eddie’s hands are already twined together as if magnetized to do so, argument forgotten - if you could even call it that. Mike rolls his eyes skyward and prays for some patience. He opens the six-person group chat that Richie and Eddie don't know about.

This is only the beginning. 

2

“So what were you thinking, anyway, decor-wise?” Stan asks, passing a water bottle over to Eddie as they sit together at his and Patty’s kitchen table. The four of them have gotten together today to hash out some ideas, and Patty and Richie are out at the store picking up takeout down the street, meaning that they should be back any minute. They should have been back twenty minutes ago, actually, but when the two of them get together all bets are off. Eddie isn't too concerned - he's taking this chance to sway the jury before Richie can get an opinion in.

“Definitely bright colours,” Eddie says absentmindedly, unscrewing the cap and twirling it distractedly between his fingers. “Richie loves that shit. Our house would look like a fucking disco exploded if you let him have control of interior decorating, but you and Patty should be able to temper is tasetfully. And he’s been on that pride kick lately, you know.” 

Stan hums in acknowledgment, jotting this down in his notebook, and letting a rare smile spread across his face, and it feels like those times back when they were kids that him and Stan would get together to update each other on Richie’s wellbeing and brainstorm nice things to do for him. “It’s nice to see him doing better about that. I was really worried back then in the hospital room, when it all went down.”

“He’s come a long way since Bangor,” Eddie agrees fondly, “But Richie’s always been strong. He just needs to be given his time for things.” 

Because Richie may always run when backed into a corner, but he also always, always comes back. Even if Eddie hadn’t found him that night at the restaurant, it would only have been a matter of time before Richie brought himself back, anyway. For god’s sake, he hadn’t even been able to find it in himself to leave the _state_ while Eddie was still in hospital. Barely the tri-state area. 

“Or to have somebody willing to chase him down across an entire state.” Stan suggests amiably.

“And I’d do it again,” Eddie says, “But I’m hoping that was a one-time thing. For the novelty of it, you know. Proving my devotion and all.”

Stan snorts. “I think he can consider Bill’s redemption tour proof enough. If I had told seven year-old Richie that one day Eddie Kaspbrak would go to blows with Big Bill Denbrough for the sake of his honour, he would have puked. And fainted.”

“He _did_ faint,” Eddie mutters bitterly, cheeks lighting up with a blush, “Once it started to look like I was going to bleed out on the dance floor. And _then_ he puked. The coward.”

Stan laughs and opens his mouth to respond, but they’re interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming open and Richie hollering out Stan’s name before the two of them have even fully made it into the house. Eddie and Stan meet each other’s eyes, and together they savour the split second of peace before they’ll learn the reason behind it. 

When Richie walks into the room, it’s with Patty perched on his back, takeout bags hanging off of her hands where they’re crossed over Richie’s chest, and with her left leg fully extended out, shoe off and foot an angry red. Stan’s eyes move slowly from this injury to Richie’s face, and the latter desperately starts spilling out explanations as they narrow intimidatingly at him. 

“I swear to _fucking god_ I had nothing to do with this!” Richie spills out frantically, trying in vain to head off Stan’s tirade before it has a chance to take off. “Or - okay, so I _did_ , but it wasn’t my fault! Well, technically the _fault_ was mine, but the idea was Patty’s.”

Patty seems largely unconcerned, elbows propped up on Richie’s shoulders and takeout bags sliding down to the bend of her arm where she has apparently been putting in little braids along their way home. When Richie says this last thing and Stan looks as if he’s planning to take up knife-throwing, though, she speaks up. 

“It’s true,” she confirms, abandoning her final braid to poke her head beside Richie’s face and look at her husband. “I told Richie he should reenact the Dirty Dancing scene with Eddie at their reception, and there was apparently a bit of a spill right where we decided to practice, so.”

“I definitely would have caught her otherwise!” Richie defends, and Stan snorts, his arms still crossed. 

“You’re so full of _shit_ ,” Stan says, "Just admit that you were too weak to catch my wife." But Patty tosses her head side to side in doubt, and against his better judgement, Eddie can’t stay quiet either.

“No, he’s right unfortunately, he definitely would have been able to lift her if she hadn't wiped out,” Eddie tells Stan, and it takes only the split second when Richie leers at Eddie for the comment for it to sink in for him. 

“ _Ugh_ ,” Stan says, screwing his face up and bringing his hands up as if to bat the two of them physically away from him, “You know who I miss every day? Seven year-old Eddie who was too repressed to say something nice about Richie without immediately throwing something at him after. Your emotionally mature selves, they sicken me.” 

Richie and Eddie both stick their tongues out at him, and Richie walks over and bends down to transfer Patty over to the couch in the sitting room where the rest of their notes have been spread out along the table and floor. Stan hurries over with an ice pack to rest on Patty’s foot, and a plate of muffins to set on the coffee table. Eddie leans up to kiss at Richie’s temple before they join them. 

“My strong man,” Eddie murmurs in his ear, and grins when Richie’s face blushes crimson. Stan looks warningly at the two of them, and Eddie puts his hands up innocently, following his fiance over to the small settee opposite Stan and Patty. Richie throws himself down onto it with a groan, and Eddie sits against his legs on the floor, reaching forward for a muffin and munching on it absentmindedly while the couple opposite them gets their notes together.

“So neutrals then, yeah?” Patty asks pleasantly, already leaning down to mark a note in her checklist. She’s clearly thinking of this as a basic question, a preliminary confirmation before ironing out the more important details, but if she did, then she’s disabused of that notion quite quickly. 

“What? No, Eddie said bright and bold.” Stan says, confused, as Eddie’s eyes widen at the realization that Richie had taken their takeout walk as a chance to sway Patty to his side, just as he had done in the kitchen with Stan. He munches even more ferociously on his muffin to finish it and talk before Richie can get a word in himself. And that jackass can _see_ that that’s what he’s doing, and Eddie just _knows_ that he’s going to wait until the last second before he’s done chewing before bothering to open his mouth and - 

“No can do Mr. Blum,” Richie says sadly just as Eddie swallows, shaking his head but successfully keeping any trace of smug laughter from his voice when he notices Eddie’s outrage at the predictability. “I’ve turned over a new leaf. It’s all about tasteful pastels and calming hues for me now.” 

“Bull _shit_ , it is,” Eddie shouts, having swallowed his muffin and jabbing an accusing finger at Richie. Patty is startled into dropping her pen, but Stan, who has played unwilling audience to their antics for four decades, just sighs wearily and bends down to retrieve it for her. “Shut the fuck up and let them throw you a rainbow-themed wedding or what the fuck ever, you contrary jackass!”

Richie brightens dramatically at his success in getting Eddie all riled up, casually leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head while Eddie nearly vibrates with the force of his outrage.

“Okay, well first of all thank you for respecting my gay identity,” Richie says back, “But this is _our_ wedding, and they’re throwing it for _us_ , not just me. That means no rainbows, though I appreciate the thought you gave to it for me.”

“ _I am gay_ ,” Eddie says furiously, “We’re getting _gay married_ , you fucking disgrace, you don’t own the rainbow. It’s going in our wedding, tell him that Stan.”

Stan stares at Eddie, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “Oh, you’ve got to be out of your fucking mind,” he says snorting, “Figure that out yourselves, who do you think I am?”

“Our wedding decorator!” Eddie shouts, throwing his arms up in the air while Richie cackles behind him, putting a hand down to brush through his hair. He continues to stew there, pouting dramatically, but he allows the touch. "You are literally _uniquely_ _qualified_ to tell him that!"

“Okay,” Patty soothes, dropping her pen down on the table and curling into Stan, ice pack held tight to her foot. “How about you two take a step back? We’ve heard both of your ideas, and now you can just leave it with us to figure out.”

Richie and Eddie both open their mouths to protest, but Patty turns put-on hurt eyes to them, mouth turning down in a sad little frown.

“Unless you don’t trust me?” she says, and the two of them groan at the knowledge that she’s gotten them cornered, just as Mike had. Another battle with a success rate left ambiguous.

God damn it. 

3

“Hey, guys,” Ben greets, walking out from behind a row of peonies at the greenhouse they’ve driven to meet him at. They’re getting closer to hitting the deadline of needing to lock down a florist, and the three of them finally found time to check out some options, hopefully to make the whole process a little easier on poor Ben. “Get here okay?”

“Haystack!” Richie shouts, bouncing forward to encase him in a hug. Eddie grins from behind Richie’s back, raising a hand in greeting. Ben laughs and squeezes Richie before releasing him to draw Eddie in for a quick hug as well. The two of them are in high spirits today - the sun is shining, their wedding day is drawing closer, and after they’re done here, they’re planning to look through the pet rescue site that Richie has been talking about to hopefully pick out a dog for the two of them to adopt. Richie had asked whether they should continue on in the tradition of naming the animal something like _Honey_ or _Baby_ , but Eddie had looked at him knowingly and told him that at that rate, there would be no more names left for Eddie to call him. That had quieted him down as fast as Eddie thought it would.

As day-to-day life goes, it’s more than thirteen year-old Eddie could have ever dreamed about for his future.

“We did,” Eddie says, answering Ben’s earlier question as the three of them start walking down the aisles to take a look at the selections, “Sorry if you were waiting here long. You know Richie drives like a grandmother.”

“No,” Richie disagrees, shaking his head, “I just don’t drive like a gleeful _maniac_. There's a large difference there. And it was already such a nice day, it wouldn't have been fair to ask me to experience you in the driver’s seat on top of it. I’ve got plans I’d like to make it home in one piece for, thank you very much.”

Richie is mostly teasing - Eddie loves driving after all, and if pressed Richie would admit that he is, actually, quite good at it when all is said and done. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a tendency to forget himself and go forward with a heavier foot than Richie would prefer when they’ve been on the road long enough and boredom sets in. They bicker about it endlessly, but happily in the end it doesn’t matter too much to them who really drives - whoever gets to the car keys first is typically fair game. Like many other things, it’s just another comfortable excuse for them to volley back and forth with each other, even if they don’t need the pretence anymore. 

“Well anyways,” Ben says, cutting into their conversation before it can get too off-track. “Driving aside, have either of you thought about what kind of flowers you’d like? Anything sticking out to you?”

“We’re not exactly sure what the wedding colours even _are_ ,” Eddie says resentfully, thinking of how Patty and Stan have stonewalled all of their attempts to find out since that day in the living room. “So we won’t exactly be much help there.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Ben says evasively, “Patty and Stan texted me about it, I’m in the loop. Just focus on what flowers you like and I’ll make it work.”

“What do you mean _Stan and Patty texted you_?” Eddie says, eyes narrowed suspiciously, “I thought it was meant to be a secret. And you guys are on two separate tasks. What have they told you.”

The statement is more demand than question, and Ben laughs nervously, pushing a hand through his hair and looking somewhere to the left of Eddie rather than directly at him. Richie looks over and grins, amused at the spectacle, not particularly caring himself but draping an arm over Eddie’s shoulders to join in waiting him out. 

“Nothing!” Ben deflects, “Nothing, we all just have a group chat for wedding planning. No big deal. Just makes for easier organization.”

“From your lips to my ears, Ben,” Eddie warns, but drops the issue so that they can move forward with picking their flowers. He’s eager to get home to curl up with Richie and scroll through their phones to choose a pet for the both of them, bickering back and forth over what type they both want, though they’ll almost certainly agree. 

“Isn’t God usually the threat in that phrase?” Richie asks absently, reaching over to thumb thoughtfully at the petals of a red rose hanging down somewhere by his waist. 

“If our friends are plotting something to do with us, it’s not God they have to watch out for.” Eddie says, making a note of the object of Richie’s focus. It makes sense - he’s always been a textbook romantic, gravitating toward the classic pillars of it to surprise Eddie. He should’ve guessed it would be a top choice for him. 

He’s definitely going to make sure Ben has roses at their wedding for him. 

“Flowers, you two,” Ben says patiently, and ostensibly to change the subject away from their friends’ shenanigans. “Which flowers do you like?”

“Roses,” Eddie says immediately, pointing Ben’s attention subtly toward where Richie has unconsciously stood against them. The word makes Richie jump, blushing as he clears his throat and moves to walk over toward the other end of the row. 

“Don’t even say anything,” Eddie warns him as Richie opens his mouth to protest, likely planning on the same argument he had used at Stan’s, _It’s our wedding Eds, not mine. We shouldn’t have roses if they aren’t your favourite._ “There can be multiple different types of flowers at a wedding, thank god, we do not have to compromise here.”

“Fine,” Richie concedes, crossing his arms and fixing Eddie with a challenging look, “But then I think we should also have daisies. _And_ poppies.”

“My favourites,” Eddie says, smothering a smile and rolling his eyes, “What a surprise. Richie likes sunflowers, too, Ben. Make sure you have that down.”

“Wait, that’s not fair,” Richie protests, “I hear you Eds, but then I’ll have three different kinds of flowers, and you’ll only have two. We should at least have the same amount.”

“What are you talking about?” Eddie asks with furrowed brow, racking his brains to think of what other flower Richie had mentioned at any point in the planning, or even liked much outside of it. Roses and sunflowers. Nothing else came to mind, so he turns back to his fiance with a frown. “Unless you were planning on asking for another one?”

Richie blushes suddenly, reddending all the way up to the tips of his ears and ducking his head, mumbling something under his breath. 

“Hm?” Eddie prompts him, leaning down himself to meet Richie’s ducked gaze and look at him patiently, “Didn’t quite catch that.”

Richie blows a breath out and tries to affect a casual look on his face - poorly, Eddie might add. He looks a moment away from burrowing a hole into the earth and going to live in it. “It’s stupid, I just - thought I’d ask if we could have buttercups there. Also.”

Eddie’s heart stutters in his chest at the thought, remembering the sweet look on Richie’s face that day at the park when he had wrapped the buttercups around his finger and asked Richie to marry him for the first-second time. He reaches up to him, draws Richie’s face down to press a kiss to his cheek and pressing his nose into the side of Richie’s as he pulls back. Richie smiles at him, still looking down meekly. 

“I mean - buttercups aren’t usually a wedding flower,” Ben says slowly, with a frown, “Given that they’re so small. I’m not sure how they'd get it into a bouquet or anything.”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine,” Richie says quickly, face only slightly downturned as he hastens to reassure Ben. “Like I said, it was a stupid thought anyw-”

“Ben can get us buttercups,” Eddie sweetly interrupts his rambling, turning to face Ben and deliver him with a dirty look, hand still pressed to Richie cheek. “Right, Ben?”

“Uh - yeah. Can do.” Ben says, catching Eddie’s not-so-subtle hint, and smiling over at Richie. “Don’t worry about it Rich. They’ll be there.”

Richie smiles over at Ben, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s palm and catching his hand to hold it between his as it comes down. They spend a little longer walking the rows of flowers, but they’re pretty certain that they’ve made their decision - miracle that that is. Eddie isn’t sure how their choices will fit in with Stan and Patty’s final decorations, but he guesses that’s what the mysterious group chat is for and resolves just to trust them. 

This is motivated only in small part by the desire to get home as soon as possible to choose their dog. Wedding aside. 

4

“So I’ve heard the two of you are difficult patients.” Bev says as she waits for them to finish folding up their clothes and position themselves on the two podiums she has set up for them. There’s a folding screen set up between them for the time being, just in place until Bev is satisfied with how the suits that she’s designed for them fall. They’ve decided to forgo the tradition of waiting until the wedding day to see each other in their suits, given how many other surprises are in store for them. Thanks to their fucking _friends_ and their goddamn secrets about _their own wedding_.

"Where'd you hear that, Bev?" Richie calls, "The myserteous group chat we're blocked from?"

Bev ignores this.

“So, I didn’t exactly use traditional colours here,” she warns them as she pulls out two zipped-up fabric bags from the rack and hands them over. “But I figured you two wouldn’t mind so much. Tell me if you don’t like them though, and I’ll whip up something more classic, it’ll be no problem.” 

“They’ll be great, Bev, whatever they look like,” Richie reassures her, smacking a kiss onto her cheek when she leans over to hand him his bag. She waves him off with a laugh but looks bolstered by the promise. Her Los Angeles location is still relatively new, and though she hasn’t said so, they can all tell that she’s anxious for everything she creates here to be a hit. Not that these clothes are for a public event - but Richie and Eddie would be lying if they said they weren’t planning on posting a picture of them in their tuxes after all is said and done to show her work. She doesn’t need the free advertising, of course, but it doesn’t hurt. 

“He’s right,” Eddie confirms, grabbing his own. “We’re just thankful that you’re doing this for us. It’s a lot of work for such short warning.”

“God, no, don’t think that,” Bev says, waving away his protests and batting his hands away to position his tie how she wants it as he starts to wrestle everything else on. “We’re all just thrilled that you two are finally getting _married_. Couldn’t keep us away if you tried. I’d make ten suits if I had to.”

Richie and Eddie smile at each other giddily over the top of the folding screen separating them. It feels brand new every time somebody references their upcoming nuptials, as if it doesn’t quite exist when it’s just the two of them talking about it together - they’ve daydreamed enough impossible scenarios as children that sometimes the fact that they’re really allowed to get married feels like just another dream in a long line of things too good to be true. The external validation makes it feel real and present in a way it otherwise doesn’t, but Eddie wouldn’t have it any other way. He _loves_ being reminded that he gets to marry Richie soon.

And vice versa, he’s noticed. If Richie’s bashful grin at Eddie chattering away to the grocery store clerk about it the other day as she rang up their groceries was any indication. Their friends may mock him endlessly for his habit of referring to Richie as _my fiance, almost my husband, my Richie_ , to anybody who asks - and even those who don’t - but it makes Richie smile like a child whenever he hears it, so if you ask him it’s a habit worth keeping up. 

“We are,” Richie agrees, face lighting up at the reminder, but he looks over teasingly at Eddie while he talks to Bev, “Hear that, Eds? Soon means not too late for you to make a run for it.”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie shoots back, poking the long row of buttons through his shirt. “You’re stuck with me. And don’t start thinking you can run off either. I don't subscribe to all that honourable ‘if you love them let them go’ bullshit - I’ll drag you back kicking and screaming.”

Richie barks out a laugh as Bev nods approvingly. “Oh, don’t I know it, Spaghetti.”

“Alright boys,” Bev says, smoothing down Richie’s lapels once final time and stepping back to survey the two of them with a critical eye. “Ready for the big reveal?”

“But I thought Eddie had his pants on,” Richie responds innocently, and basks in the _boos_ sent his way from both Eddie and Bev’s direction. She doesn’t grace his comment with a response, but reaches forward to remove the folding screen, almost bouncing on her toes to wait for their reactions to the other’s outfit. 

Beverly has outdone herself.

She’s right - neither of them are anywhere near traditional; not even in the same ballpark. But they’re better than any black or grey suit could ever hope to be, and what’s more, the two suits fit them both perfectly and when placed together. 

Richie’s suit is a soft cream colour, tailored to accentuate his broad shoulders and strong arms, _much_ to Eddie’s appreciation. His shirt is - yes, a Hawaiian pattern, but a tasteful one, a white base with soft pinks and greens of the flowers and - here’s the real winning point - little black puffins sprinkled in all around the foliage. It’s impeccably crisp, well-tailored, and it’s _fun_. That’s the real success. It looks exactly like something Richie would pick out to wear, elevated to the standards of their wedding by the magic of Bev’s hands. He’s so handsome, Eddie could almost cry. 

Eddie’s suit, on the other hand, isn’t quite so audacious pattern-wise. But it’s a marvel in its own right, a pale pink number with a black tie and cream shirt. Very simple on the surface, if unconventional, but it’s when Richie takes a closer look at the threading on the shirt and along the smaller details of the suit that he gets choked up. Bev has hand-sewn tiny little _R+E’s_ all throughout the lining, indistinguishable at first glance but unable to be unseen at the second. Sentimentally designed to appeal to Richie specifically. It's more than perfect - it's _knowing_. The knowledge that their friends see them and know them down to their bones likes this makes the weight of the clothes that much more special.

Eddie forgets to care for a moment that this is really the only sure knowledge they have of their own wedding. It's not too different from everyday life, anyway. Richie has always been the only thing Eddie has ever been sure of.

💍

  
  


It’s the day.

It’s their _wedding day_. It’s the day that Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak will bind themselves legally together in a ceremony before their friends, and family, and Turtle God. The first day of the rest of their lives, as corny as it sounds.

Richie had been in a giddy mood all morning, waking Eddie up at the crack of dawn with little kisses dropped all over his face, across his eyes, nose, lips, cheeks. It had taken the raspberries blown onto his chest before Eddie pushed Richie away with a laugh and sat up to pull him in for real before getting them up and to the bathroom for showers and shaves. Then the bouncing-knee anticipation of waiting those long hours before their afternoon ceremony, and all that comes after. 

But there’s nothing left to wait for, now. They’ve dressed, they’ve driven, they’ve arrived and they’re standing together now, hand in hand outside the room where their ceremony will take place. Richie’s hair has been done up in little braids that sweep up into a bun at the top of his head, and Eddie’s curls are riotous and free. Their suits look just as perfect together as Bev had intended, and their shoes are shined to perfection. But it’s the happiness shining from both of their faces that truly completes the portrait; that will be the thing that the two of them remember most clearly years from now. Eddie has just pulled back from pressing another kiss to Richie’s face - their last, before the big one - they’d been bickering about which _Back to the Future_ movie was best and Eddie had been so appalled by Richie’s arguments he couldn’t help but kiss him - when they hear the organ start up and their cue to enter is only seconds away now, instead of days and weeks and years. 

“You ready, Eds?” Richie murmurs, looking at him with a grin and waggling eyebrows raised.

“Was ready forty years ago,” Eddie responds easily, “You’re just late.”

This does the job that Eddie had intended, of bringing a startled laugh to Richie's chest, smoothing out the tension in his shoulders and washing a calm serenity over his face. And not a moment too soon. Time is up, and they have somewhere they need to be. 

They grasp each other’s hands tightly and together they push open the doors. 

Their friends are the first thing they see, standing around the centre altar that is Richie and Eddie’s final destination. Bill is at the podium there, notes in hand and an expectant grin on his face, ready to get them married. They see Went and Maggie, front row, and Sandy and Kay, and a mixture of friends from Eddie’s new nonprofit job after quitting his old. 

But when their eyes adjust to everything around them and they finally take a proper look around the ceremony space, Richie doubles over immediately, almost falling to the ground in gasping laughter - certainly would have, in fact, but for Eddie’s steady grip on his hand. But now Eddie’s bursting out into giggles too, so even that may not be a sure thing for much longer. He wouldn't't be surprised if they were both on the floor before the ceremony has even really begun.

Their friends - the cheeky bastards - have split the ceremony space exactly down the middle, decoration-wise. This is not an exaggeration - the strategic use of colour has created a clearly identifiable line running straight down the middle of the walkway leading to the altar, the decor reflecting Richie’s tastes taking up the left side of the space and Eddie’s on the right. The chairs arranged on the left-hand side are draped in a variety of bright colours, an entire rainbow effect created when perceived in its entirety, while the right side is done up in tasteful neutrals and pastels. On either side of the altar are rows of candles, flashy little teacup colour wheels on Richie’s and tall white, pink, and cream taper candles on Eddie’s. Daisies and poppies line the aisle on the left, with sunflowers and roses to the right, but scattered across the floor on both sides are bright little pinpricks of yellow that cause happiness to shine from Richie’s face. 

Buttercups. 

All in all, it’s a dazzling sea of colour, not a speck of darkness in sight despite the fading light of mid-afternoon. It’s so much - really, it should look chaotic and disorganized, but their friends have done a beautiful job and like everything else about them, the chaos settles together perfectly, each detail complimenting the next and contributing to the larger picture that rests before them all. 

The music starts up so they can start to walk again, and hand-in-hand they do, but Eddie stops dead right before they can step up to the altar together. Richie’s face drops briefly and their guests watch in confusion, so Eddie hastens to explain himself, the idea of Richie doubting this for a second, on this day of all days, unbearable.

“I just - I don’t know what side I’m supposed to stand on?” Eddie says, laughing helplessly. Richie grins in relieved understanding, and laughs himself, looking around to locate Stan for an answer.

“Stanley?” Richie calls, craning his head around to lay eyes on his oldest friend, eyebrows raised. “Help a man out here.”

Stan throws his arms up in their air, and when they turn to Patty she just giggles, no help to them there. “Surprise me,” he calls back dryly, “I’ve done my job here. You couldn't _pay_ me to get involved any further.”

The rest of their guests laugh, and Richie and Eddie only need to share one brief look before Richie pulling their entwined hands up above their heads, twirling Eddie around in a circle and switching their places so that Eddie is stationed proudly on the Richie-themed side, and Richie on the opposite. 

Bill clears his throat so that everybody falls silent, and pauses before pulling out a tissue to dab at his tearing eyes. It's time for the show to begin, but their oldest friend can't get a grip on himself long enough to start the officiant speech, and so they're a bit stalled. Richie gives him a charitable thirty seconds before breaking in with a joke. 

“Come on Big Bill,” Richie murmurs, wetly himself, the sight of Bill already starting him. “Pull it together, dude. This is my day to cry, you great glory hog.”

Everybody laughs, and Bill visibly contemplates throwing his used tissue at Richie before Eddie’s warning look stops him in his tracks. He grins at this, nodding in acceptance, and pulls out his notes to really begin, deep shuddering breaths in.

“So - sorry about that,” Bill begins, smiling self-deprecatingly at everyone around him. “But in my d-defence, this has been a _long time_ coming. And welcome, everybody. You can all be s-seated now.”

Everybody sits, and Bill takes one more deep breath in to begin his speech. Neither Richie nor Eddie had been too enamoured with any of the typical officiant scripts, and so they’d just given Bill free rein to do it however he thought best, knowing them as well as he did. Eddie is just hoping he doesn’t have cause to regret it, but Richie had seemed optimistic enough at the idea, so here they are. 

“First off, I’d like to thank everybody for c-coming out and joining Richie and Eddie to celebrate their happy day,” Bill says, “If I’m allowed to get sentimental for a second here, I truly can’t think of a more worthy occasion to come t-together than to witness the union of these two, which I know isn’t only tremendously meaningful for the two of them, but for all of us who are lucky enough to know and l-love them. I’ve known Richie and Eddie almost my entire life, so I know firsthand how long they’ve been waiting to be able to do this, whether they've been able to express that to each other or not.”

“At first I was admittedly a bit hesitant when they asked me to be their officiant, given that,” Bill gestures to his face, “I’ve been known to s-stutter when overly emotional, and I didn’t want to drag this ceremony on f-forever. But the good news is that not only did Richie reassure me that he would be happy to stand up here and g-get to have an endless ceremony to marry Eddie f-forever, Eddie told me that he knew that my crying would make Richie cry, which would be funny for him.”

Eddie blushes at this while Richie flings his head to the side to look at Eddie, mouth gaping open in mock betrayal, which he softens by leaning forward momentarily to bump his forehead. 

“But,” Bill continues, “Richie’s sappiness is not actually what I wanted to s-start off talking about today. Because you know, as a group we tease Richie a lot about how obviously gone he’s been for Eddie since the tender age of s-six, but we waste a lot of golden opportunities to m-mock Eddie for the same. Because Eddie has always been just as stupid over Richie, he’s just been able to be more subtle about it. And there’s not one single story I could tell that encapsulates what these two mean to each other, and to me, and to all of us, and the many and varied ways that they have made fools of themselves trying to express that. But,” Bill says, grinning now, “I can try. Eddie, for example -”

“Oh my god,” Eddie says in horror, at the same time that Richie says “Oh my _god_ ,” in unfettered delight. 

“When we were seven,” Bill starts with a grin, “Richie was out of school sick one day. And myself and Stan didn’t really think twice, but Eddie was an absolute _m-misery_ about it. We didn’t even get a chance to appreciate the rare peace because Eddie made such a fuss over his absence that our teacher tried to c-calm him down by telling him that he probably just had a cold, since a kid in our class had one last w-week and he most likely caught it from him. She really thought this would c-calm him down, but instead Eddie just looked at her, and with all three feet five inches of anger in him, he g-goes, _‘So what you’re telling me is that you failed in your primary responsibility as caretaker of our welfare by letting this moron stay in class and endanger Richie?’_ . At the age of - and I cannot stress this enough - _seven_ . And then he swung around and yelled so loud and relentlessly at the k-kid who made Richie sick that he cried and had to be taken home early. That would have been b-bad enough on it’s own, but then Eddie turned to our teacher with big innocent eyes, this little asshole, and he s-said, _‘Wow. That was really wrong of me. Maybe I should be sent home, too. But my mom’s at work, maybe Miss Maggie could come pick me up?’_ ” 

The room erupts in laughter, but it’s Wentworth who laughs so hard at this that he almost falls out of his chair and has to be pulled back up by Maggie (“I would have!”). Eddie looks first at Bill in betrayal, and then to the sky in supplication so that he doesn’t have to make eye contact with anyone. But it’s well worth it for how Richie grins so big and happy at him that it looks as if it makes his cheeks hurt, so he decides not to be too put out. He’s not sure he could be too put out by _anything_ today, he thinks with a warmth blooming in his chest. 

Or so he thinks until he realizes that Bill hasn’t finished with the story-telling portion of his speech. 

“But the time I really wanted to talk about happened even earlier than that, when we were all s-six. Eddie and I had only known Richie and Stan for a few m-months, but you wouldn’t know it from how inseparable Richie and Eddie were right away. At the time we were learning about f-families in school, and since we were, you know, six and stupid, they t-told us that people choose to get married because they love each other b-better than anyone and want to live together and hang out forever. ‘Like best friends, but more’, is what they told us. So we’re walking home after school that day, Eddie and me, and Eddie is obviously trying to work up the nerve to say something, and I’m not mentioning it because he just looks so nervous and I don’t want to make him feel bad. But eventually we’re getting closer to his house, and he stops us and t-tugs me over to the side of the road, and he says, “ _Hey Bill? You know the decoder ring I got from my Chex box? Do you think that it would be good for a wedding, or is it too dumb?_ ’ And I - unfortunately, I really misunderstood what he was trying to say th-there, and I said, “ _Well I think your decoder ring is really neat, Eddie. But I already have one, and I don’t really want to get married, I’m sorry.’_ And Eddie,” Bill continues, and the sweet dawning realization on Richie’s face is the only thing stopping Eddie from absolutely clobbering his oldest friend right now, “He looks at me like I was a bug at the bottom of his shoe, and he says, ‘ _No dummy, I mean so I can marry Richie when we’re older. Ugh, never mind, I’ll just ask Stan_.’ And then he stomped inside his house without saying goodbye to me.”

“That’s what you get for trying to steal my _man!_ ” Richie shouts between laughter, his own and Bev’s shrieking laughter from behind Eddie. But his face is absolutely gone now, the tears spilling over so that Eddie has to lean forward again and pull out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe gently at his cheeks. 

“What I mean to say by all of this is that, call it what you w-want, be it fate, or magic, or c-coincidence," Bill continues, "I believe that Richie and Eddie have been set on this course from the very beginning. And I think all of us knew that whatever obstacles separated them along the way, that the two of them would n-never be able to stay apart forever. It has been said that _‘Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new._ ’ It has also been said, of course, that ‘ _Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?_ ’ I don’t know which of those are true, but I can say that I have seen firsthand evidence of both in these two. It seemed to me that they fell in love that very first day in kindergarten, and every day since then have remade and reworked this love with grace, with intent, and with care.”

“What the fuck, Bill,” Richie says, shaken by the unexpected earnestness of this speech after the introductory mocking of Eddie, but his attention is pulled by the sounds of a snifflng Eddie, whose own tears are now threatening to spill - so out of character that it startles him right out of his own weeping. Patting his own pockets frantically for a handkerchief like Eddie had done for him earlier, Richie only comes up with a clean and new pair of extra socks he had stuffed in there earlier, meaning to drop them off at his hotel room. He grimaces at the option but sticks his hand into the sock and straightens up to reach forward and dab at Eddie’s wet eyes to the laughter (and sighs) of their guests. Eddie sputters at this voice, shoving Richie’s socked hand away from his face, though laughing as he does so.

“Pull yourself together, Eds,” Richie murmurs teasingly, when they’ve rejoined their (sockless) hands. “You’ve got to save breath for your vows.”

Oh, right. The vows. Now this was a part of the ceremony that Eddie had been nervously anticipating for months, having altered it the way that they decided to. Back at the beginning of their wedding planning, Richie had made some joke or another about _putting that in my vows_ about some particularly sweet thing that Eddie had said to him, But the thing was - and this incident only showed it - that Richie and Eddie had made a thoughtful effort to express their feelings to each other every day anyway. If Eddie did something that Richie found particularly endearing, he simply told him. If Richie’s antics were more lovable than usual and Eddie wanted to hold him sweetly and call him honey, he did that. In light of that, it had seemed sort of redundant for the two of them to stand in front of all of these people and repeat these truths for the sake of everyone else, when they already knew it themselves so well.

But there had been one night, months ago, before Eddie had quit his job, that he had come home exhausted and dead on his feet. He’d only had energy to eat a bowl of the soup that Richie had made for them before he was dozing off on the couch, head in Richie’s lap and hair stroked while the latter flipped through a new poetry book he had picked up the other day. He was just about to drop into a deep enough sleep that Richie would have definitely had to carry him to bed when he was pulled out of his doze by Richie’s voice.

 _Hey Eddie, listen to this,_ he’d said, _this line, it’s - ‘I’m doing a balancing act with a stack of fresh fruit in my basket. I love you. I want us both to eat well.’_

Eddie had hummed out a questioning noise at this, too exhausted to even attempt to form words, but wanting Richie to know that he was still listening to him, regardless. Richie had simply shrugged, a small little grin pulling at the side of his mouth self-deprecatingly. _Dunno. Made me think of you._

Well. That had been reason enough for Eddie to pull himself up, to kiss his way up and into Richie’s mouth, show him exactly what he thought of that.

And the idea had been borne from there. 

“So,” Bill says now, pulling Eddie out of these thoughts, “As Richie has so eloquently mentioned, this would usually be the part where I would say that each of the two grooms have prepared v-vows that they will read in front of you now. But because these t-two are deeply repressed, and because they say enough s-sappy shit to each other on a daily basis, they have chosen instead to read excerpts to each other from poetic and literary works that have made them think of each other. And also I suspect because they can’t turn off being competitive for even a day, and want to see who can make who cry first.”

Richie and Eddie both shrug unrepentantly, because Bill’s right. That little fact had played more than a small part in the decision.

“Richie, you can start.” Bill says, and takes a small step back so that the two of them are front and centre on the front podium. 

Richie clears his throat, and lets go of one of Eddie’s hands to pull from his pocket his own folded papers. Eddie doesn’t think anybody else would be able to, but he can tell that Richie is a bit nervous, so he arranges his face into a casual grin, and says, “Come on, Rich. Scared I’ll beat you already, you big crybaby?”

Richie laughs, startled, but grins back at Eddie. “Not in a million years, Spaghetti.”

But the interruption has done its job - he takes a deep steadying breath before looking up to meet Eddie’s eyes. “Bill mentioned earlier the idea of love at first sight. Which is not only beautiful, but appropriate, because my first excerpt is: ‘ _I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I even knew that I had begun_.’” 

“Pride and Prejudice?” Eddie murmurs, low enough so only Richie can hear, stroking his hand “You fucking sap.” Richie smiles at this, seeing right through him, and definitely noting the enhanced wet sheen to his almost-husband’s eyes. 

Eddie clears his throat, and raises his voice so that everyone around them will now be able to hear. “Looks like we’re on a bit of a theme here. My first choice is ‘ _My life - my whole life - take it, and do with it what you will. I love you, love you as I have never loved any living thing. From the moment I met you, I loved you, loved you blindly, adoringly, madly. You didn’t know it then. You know it now_.”

“Fuck, Eddie,” Richie mutters, pulling a hand up to pinch at his eyes and stop the tears before they can fall, almost undone by the very first round. Eddie waits patiently for him to compose himself, and Stan calls out tauntingly from behind Richie, ostensibly to tease him, but more likely to help him.

“Is that a tear I see?” he calls out, “Does the terms of the bet still apply if you’re physically impeding them from falling?”

“Fuck _off,_ Stanley,” Richie calls back, laughing wetly, but no tears visible on his face. “I’m calm. I’m cool. I’m collected. No one has ever cried less than me, right now, in this moment. And look, Eddie’s almost crying too!” Stan makes a doubtful noise, but Wentworth’s voice breaks in from the front row of the seats. 

“Oh, give my son a break,” he says, _tsk_ evident in his voice. “It’s his wedding day, and all.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Richie says, turning around to point at him. “You’re a real one.”

“I was talking about Eddie.” Wentworth said, and Eddie laughs bright and happy, sticking his tongue out at Richie across from him, who puts on a fake pout for a second before shaking his head and getting back to the point.

He takes a deep breath, stands up straight. He looks Eddie right in the eyes. 

_“Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart,_ ” Richie recites clearly, no need for any notes. _“I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name_.”

Well that - took the breath out of Eddie’s throat, actually. _Eds_ , he hears underneath it. _Honey, baby, darling, my love._ It almost makes him doubt his next choice, too understated by far, but he’d chosen this one for an important reason, and he’s not going to shrink away now. It’s something Richie should hear - deserves to hear. 

“‘ _Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own,’_ ” Eddie tells him quietly, “‘ _in pain and sickness, it would still be as dear._ ’”

Richie closes his eyes briefly, overcome. There is a lot of meaning that lurks beneath that simple sentence, years and years of unintended slights and doubts, unsoothed hurts. It’s something that Eddie wasn’t careful enough of as a child, and something that Eddie is very conscious about these days, never implying to Richie through his ingrained hypochondriac tendencies that he’s ever in any way sick, or dirty, or not clean enough for him. Richie takes his hands now, strokes his thumbs across Eddie’s clasped hands. “That’s why,” he says, “That’s why, ‘ _I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you_.’”

Me, too! Eddie wants to shout. Me too, I would, of course I would. I’d die for you too, and live for you, and chase you all over the state of Maine. I’d buy you ice-cream, I’d buy you a puffin, I can’t bake for the life of me but I’ll make sure you get a homemade blackberry pie, too. But they’re standing here, after all, because these words were not meant for the entire world to hear. Eddie can tell him this later, can press these words into his skin and know that he hears and understands them, truly. But for now, at least, he can borrow somebody else’s words. Eddie angles himself toward their guests; _this,_ on the other hand, is something they should all know. 

“ _My love for him resembles the eternal rocks beneath_ ,” Eddie says to all of them proudly, “ _He is always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same._ ’”

“Fuck,” Richie says, tilting his head back and sniffing, blinking quickly to dispel the tears that are only threatening to fall more and more by the minute. “Fuck, you _Wuthering Heights_ ’d me. Low blow, Eds.”

“Then cry over it,” Eddie suggests, “Just let out a little tear, come on.”

Richie shakes his head with a laugh, “No! No, I’m _always_ the crier, fuck you. And also, take this, ‘ _I love you despite you, despite myself, despite the entire world, despite God, despite the Devil who has also had a hand in this. I love you, I love you. Whether I’m happy or unhappy, gay or sad, I love you. I love you, do with me what you will_.’”

This hits their friends as much as it hits Eddie - the truth of the 'Devil' comment being known only too well.

“ _I burned so long, so quiet, you must have wondered if I loved you back_ ,’” Eddie shoots back quickly before he can break, grinning to him instead of dwelling on past hurts or even the suggestive 'do with me what you will, “‘ _I did, I did, I do._ ’”

Warm and fizzy, feeling like they could explode from the warmth of it all. That's what it feels like for the two of them standing there, showing each other how loved and cherished they are in a way only they could - by turning their love into a harmless competition, the culmination of everything that has brought them here where they stand now. 

“Well, impressively, nobody has broken yet,” Bill says, smiling softly at the two of them. His own cheeks are wet, along with the rest of their friends and guests, but they’re not part of the bet so that doesn’t matter. “Well, neither of these two, anyway. This is your last chance, you guys.”

Richie steadies himself on his feet, brings his hands up to cup Eddie’s face. Laughter lines still linger on his face, but he banishes any sense of joking from his demeanor, eyes bright and clear now, for once completely serious. 

“ _‘If there is something in this world I love more than you,”_ Richie tells him quietly, _“I am terrified of its face_.’”

Eddie bursts into tears, bawling like a baby. He can't help it. 

And even though that was the whole _point_ , even though they’d made it into some sort of competition, even though Richie should be beyond pleased, really, that for once it was Eddie crying, he made a concerned noise in the back of his throat, reaching forward to engulf him in his arms. Eddie has to make a concentrated effort to not sink into his chest, to maintain at least _some_ level of decorum here, but god, he wants to. And the sooner they can seal the deal the quicker he can, so he pulls back and takes a deep breath to deliver his own last line, ignoring their friends behind them, booing him for his failure. 

Eddie smiles tearfully, meeting Richie with his own final offering. “‘ _If I could have done it all again_ ,” he murmurs, “ _I would have loved you better. But I could not have loved you more_.’”

“Oh come on, let me kiss him,” Richie begs, swaying closer to Eddie each second. Eddie would let him, is about to, but Bill Denbrough is a drill sergeant when on a mission. “Bill, say it’s time for kissing already, I’m dying of it.”

“It is not kissing time,” Bill says, “Shut up for a second. But as the two of you go forward as a family, continuing to build your life together, and before we seal the ceremony with your declarations, there is one final surprise I’d like to s-set up for you.” Bill folds the paper back into his suit jacket, and gestures to the side of the space where Eddie can see a soundtable set up, attached to discrete speakers that are dotted along the room. Sandy has seated herself there, having moved without their notice, and she salutes them cheekily now from where her fingers are poised over the switches. 

The space is silent as Richie and Eddie hold their breaths in anticipation. Then, from the speakers, a soft trilling sound emerges, interspersed with small little chirps and gentle purrs. The two of them look at each other, and Richie’s eyes fill with happy tears while the majority of their guests look on confused. Eddie reaches forward to thumb at the tears spilling under Richie’s eyes, moving his hand up to cup his face. Richie turns his head slightly to press a kiss to the palm, holding Eddie’s hand against his face with a bright look in his eyes, before they let their hands fall again, coming down to join together once more. Eddie squeezes one, twice, three times. A message just for Richie. 

Gift Shop Mary clears her throat politely and steps forward to speak from where she was perched next to Sandy. “So - what you just heard were actually some sound recordings that we’ve managed to capture of vocalizations made by Sweetheart while in flight, as well as in the presence of her family. As you know, puffins mate for life, and though Sweetheart is not yet old enough to breed, I thought you would both be happy to hear that she is part of a colony and has chosen her mate. Just like the two of you.”

Neither of them are able to speak through the emotion clogging their throats, but Mary seems to get the idea well enough. She beams at them as she returns to her seat, and Sandy hops onto the table to swing her legs and watch them grinningly. 

“And _now_ ,” Bill says, grinning also, about to deliver his most popular declaration yet, “Richie Tozier, do you take Eddie Kaspbrak to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love and cherish him, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, forsaking all others, keeping yourself only unto him, for so long as you both shall live?”

“I _do_ ,” Richie says immediately, “I do.”

“And Eddie,” Bill says, turning to face him, “Do you, Eddie Kaspbrak, take Richie Tozier to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love and cherish him, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, forsaking all others, keeping yourself only unto him, for so long as you both shall live?”

“Easy,” Eddie says, “Of course I do.”

Richie’s soft eyes held Eddie’s for a long moment, stroking his clasped hands, before turning expectantly to Bill. 

“ _No,_ ” Bill says, “Not yet.”

“ _Booo_ ,” Eddie says quietly, and as Richie nods in agreement, he can hear their friends laughing behind him just as much as he can imagine Stan’s weary sigh at their insistence on always going off-script. Bill turns a stern look to Eddie. 

“ _Richie and Eddie_ ,” he says pointedly, “will now exchange rings as a symbol of their love and commitment to each other. Rings are a precious metal; they are made more precious by your wearing them. Your wedding ring is a circle, marking the continuance of your lives together, a symbol of love never-ending. It is a seal of the vows you have just taken to love each other the same way.”

Eddie expects Bill to direct them to place their rings on each other’s fingers, impatient to see what Richie chose for him, but Bill pauses instead before speaking. 

Bill clears his throat. “Back when Eddie proposed to Richie for - what must have been the fortieth time, months ago - he went to great lengths to construct a band that symbolized their long love for each other. When Eddie asked me to, I retrieved the wood that was used to create the ring from a place of significance in our hometown that everyone called the Kissing Bridge. It was said that anyone who carved the initials of them and their beloved into the wood would be fated to stay together forever, and unbeknownst to both of them at the time, Richie and Eddie both carved their initials into the wood at the age of thirteen.”

Eddie knew all of this already, of course, and so did Richie. The two of their initials joined together in defiance and love, and a lopsided but firm R encased in a heart. He supposes it’s nice to hear all of this again, but Richie doesn’t even look shocked at the unexpected segue. Just expectant. He narrows his eyes suspiciously, not quite able to figure out where two of them are going with this.

“After Richie and Eddie asked me to officiate their wedding, I got another phone call, this time just from Richie.” Bill says, and Eddie turns to face Richie in surprise. His soon-to-be husband grins at him, crooked and happy, but doesn't say a word. “And let me tell you, it is a mark of just how much I love and value these two that I went _back_ to our hometown at his request and once again committed minor acts of property damage.” he looks out at all of the guests gathered there, “Please keep that to yourselves.”

“Richie, what -” Eddie says surprised, but Bill interrupts him.

“The ring that Richie will give to Eddie in a moment is almost identical in that way,” Bill continues, “But for one more detail, that I also retrieved at Richie’s request. Bonded into the bridge wood and metal of this ring is fabric taken from the hammock in our old clubhouse. Some of you here understand the significance of that.”

And the four other Losers are nodding, smiling nostalgically as well as somewhat exhaustedly at the remembrance of the two of them always constructing complicated means of being able to touch each other, back when the stakes were too high to simply ask. The other guests look confused, and Eddie is sure that they’ll have a whole pile of questions to field later, but for right now this moment is for him and Richie alone. Eddie’s tears start falling again where they had previously abated, and Richie reaches out to thumb at them gently, smiling fondly at his intended. Bill gives the two of them a moment to soak it in, before moving them closer to the part they’ve both been waiting anxiously for.

“Richie,” Bill says, “Please place the ring on Eddie’s left hand and repeat after me: As a sign of my love,”

“As a sign of my love,” Richie says clearly and articulately, eyes held to Eddie’s and taking sure care with each separate syllable. 

“That I have chosen you,” Bill says.

“That I have chosen you.”

“Above all else,”

“Above all else.”

“With this ring,” Bill finishes, “I thee wed.”

“With this ring,” Richie says, voice still clear but laughing at himself wetly now for how his own tears have started falling again to match Eddie’s. Christ, what a pair the two of them make. "I thee wed."

“And Eddie,” Bill says, turning to him, and Eddie’s heart ratchets up in his chest in excitement, wanting so badly to be married to Richie, “Please place the ring on Richie’s left hand and repeat after me: As a sign of my love,”

“As a sign of my love,” Eddie says, rapidfire voice a contrast to Richie’s slow and clear recitation, the way it always gets when he’s eager and excited. Richie laughs happily at the sound, and Eddie grins back, not caring how it looks or sounds to anybody else. 

“That I have chosen you,” Bill says, voice slowing down in a pointed tease, and Eddie sticks his tongue out at him, but makes an effort to calm it down.

“That I have chosen you,” he says, this time only just a touch more measured. Bill gives it up as futile. 

“Above all else,”

“Above all else.”

“With this ring, I thee wed.”

“With this ring,” Eddie repeats, and looks between the ring in question and Richie as if to say _look! Look at what we’re doing, the two of us!_ “I thee wed.”

“And _now_ ,” Bill says finally, rolling his eyes at the simultaneous “Fuck, yeah!” and “ _Finally_.” that come from the two men standing in front of him, “By the power vested in me by the state of California, it is my honour and delight to declare you married. You may seal this declaration with a kiss. You impatient assholes.”

Richie leans forward, or Eddie does, but it doesn’t matter who leans first because the two of them are meeting almost instantly and any other thoughts are dispelled from Eddie’s head like a wisp of smoke. The kiss is slow and deep, but even after that first meeting, the two of them are pulling back in press another, and another, and another to each other’s lips joyfully, unable to keep apart completely for a single second. The band on Eddie’s finger burns hot and sure all the while, a precious weight that keeps him grounded to the earth where Richie’s kisses are making him feel as if he could float off and away if he let them.

Bill’s voice can be heard before they’ve stopped, figuring (correctly, probably) that if he wants to say this, he’d better not wait until they’re done, or they’ll never leave the room. 

“It is my great pleasure to announce to you all the newlyweds: Richie and Eddie Kaspbrak-Tozier!”

Their guests are cheering, and Bill is laughing, but Eddie barely hears them. He's only aware of the man in front of him, and around him, and inside him, and the life that the two of them will continue to create together. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> if there are any puffin scientists out there who read this and are perturbed by my insistence on inventing atlantic puffin facts for the sake of tenderness every time... time to stay quiet unless you don’t believe in love


End file.
